The Box
by Transparent Existance
Summary: Drake Parker opened his eyes, but what he saw wasn't home. He finds himself trapped in a room with no knowledge of how he got there or why he's there. Within the room he finds only a small box. With limited supplies and only the instructions that if he opens the box early he will never be released, can he survive this hellish prison long enough to get answers and be rescued?
1. Awakening

THE BOX: AWAKENING

Drake Parker could barely keep the startled scream from breaking the silence as he opened his brown eyes. Blinking away the remnants of the empty sleep to the waking vision of a nightmarish place he didn't know. He pushed himself up from the hard, filthy mattress and looked down at his hands as they moved to grip his cold arms tightly to assure himself that he was awake. His back was stiff from sleeping on the age worn mattress, the rusted springs poking through the filthy material in scattered places. The scent of old iron and faint copper rose in dusty waves with every movement Drake made, sending further unease through his body as he continued to try and clear his mind enough to really see where he was.

The room was large, empty and spacious with high walls and two small barred windows far out of reach. Murky streams of golden sunlight drifted through the layers of grime and dust on the old window panes. The walls were made of old gray slate stone, just as filthy as the windows. Smears of ash covered old scorch marks like wispy cloaks. At the base of every wall rested oak trim, chipped and rotting with age. The wall farthest from the bed held a door resting lazily in an oak frame. Drake pushed his legs over the bed and onto the cold wood floor, feeling the full force of the empty chill before looking down to realize that his shoes and socks were gone.

"What the..." He stopped, the sound of his voice echoing against the walls. Trying to remember anything hurt, feeding the hungry, painful throbbing in his head. That pain was nothing compared to the growing frustration of not knowing where he was, or why he was there.

Ignoring the feeling of the cold, dirty floor Drake pushed himself to his feet and tried to move towards the door. The first few steps failed, a sudden nausea gripping his stomach as the dizziness coursed through his body. He fell back onto the bed, his hand catching on one of the exposed springs and cutting into the tender flesh. Drake cursed loudly, the harsh sound of his own voice reverberating against his ears as he pressed his bleeding hand against his dark blue jeans to try and stop the bleeding.

Long moments passed before he felt enough in control of himself to try and stand again, this time keeping his footing as he stumbled across the floor towards the door. It stood six feet tall, its thick wood standing firm against the rusted brass hinges. Like those hinges, the small, round door knob was also made of brass, though the filth coating its surface had recently been disturbed. Drake tried to open the door, his hands sliding through the filth as he tried to grip it tightly and turned. First he tried to push it out, and when that failed to open it, he tried to pull it. Neither action gave him the result he wanted. The door had been locked from the outside by whomever had left him there.

"Hello?" He called out as he knocked lightly on the door. While he waited for a response he wiped the grime off of his hand. "Is anyone there?" Still no answer from beyond the door. Annoyed, Drake began pounding on the door, the dull pain creeping through his hand as he yelled out furiously to anyone out there. When there was still no reply he froze, the pain in his hand spreading as he slid down to the floor with his back against the door.

The floor, like the rest of the room was covered in mold and debris. Small pebbles from the walks and chunks of wood from the decomposing ceiling. The light fixture that had once been in its center had been ripped out, its broken cords now hanging lifelessly and without purpose. His hand was bleeding again, the blood oozing over his palm and onto the floor. Knowing hat he needed to stop the bleeding and attempt to keep the cut clean, Drake tugged at the deep violet long sleeved shirt he was wearing under his black band tee shirt, tearing the material around its bottom until he had enough cloth to wrap around his hand.

That was when he first heard it. From somewhere else in the building drifted a light thudding sound, echoing against the walls. It didn't last for long, stopping almost as suddenly as it had began and leaving him again in haunting silence. For long minutes Drake sat against the door, straining to hear any possible sounds of life coming from outside his room. The dead silence bothered him more then the thudding, making him feel utterly alone. Was there someone else there? If there was, why wouldn't they have said anything when he had called out?

Drake sighed heavily before pushing himself up from the floor to inspect the room. Aside from the bed he had woken in, there was a small, wooden table and a single chair in the middle of the room. Against the wall farthest from the windows was a metal bucket surrounded by a mess of crumpled newspapers. A few feet from the bucket was an antique chest in the same state of decomposition as the rest of the room. From the door to the wall across the floor he took thirty steps, repeating the number to himself as he moved to the wall with the windows. From there, he counted the steps it took to get to the wall with the bucket and chest: forty-two. The room felt much to big for him to occupy alone, and knowing just how large it was again left him feeling impossibly alone.

The first thing he moved to inspect was the bucket, barely needing to lean over it before the odor assaulted his nostrils and sent him stepping back. Who ever had brought him here expected him to stay for awhile. Shaking off the disgust he moved to the chest, pushing his fingertips under its lid and pushing it open with the full force of his strength. Inside of its decomposing body he found a gallon of water, two apples and a loaf of bread. In the opposite corner of the chest was a smaller chest, wrapped in fraying hemp rope with a folded piece of crisp, fresh paper tucked underneath.

Grabbing one of the apples and the note, Drake slowly walked towards the table, sitting in the creaking chair before taking the first bite. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until then, the taste exploding against his tongue and wetting his dry throat. With his free hand he unfolded the paper, laying it onto the table as he began to read.

_Drake Parker, welcome to your new home. By now you've found the food and water we've provided for you, make them last, you won't be getting any more. As you may have noticed, all personal possessions we've deemed unnecessary had been taken, you won't be needing them here. No one is going to find you, and there are no ways out. The small chest with which this note was placed is NOT to be opened for two days. If you open it before then, we will know, and any hope of leaving will be lost. Though you can not see us, we are watching every move you make. Your eventual escape is out of your hands, but your survival here depends entirely on you. Act wisely. _

Drake read the note twice more, looking at the carefully written cursive words as he tried to understand what exactly was going on. He had been left here, locked inside of this deteriorating room with very limited supplies and no way of knowing when, or if he would be getting out. But why? What on Earth had he done? The words of the letter played back through his mind in dark voices, sinking in until they were all he could hear. Drake's hands began to shake, the sudden onslaught of fear and anger finally taking over until he could control it no longer. Dropping the apple, its dull thud and steady roll across the dirty floor fading father from his hearing, Drake began to panic.

The trembling in his pale hands moved to the rest of his body an up his throat, simple movements growing into frantic roars as he began to yell unintelligible words at the cold uncaring room. The birds that had made their nests in the empty spaces of the ceiling shook their tired feathers and called out before taking flight out into the late afternoon light. Drake stomped across the floor, back to the locked door and began to pound on it until his knuckles cracked. The blood soaked through his clenched fingers, sliding down his arms as he continued screaming. He didn't care that no one was listening, there was too much anger within him and it needed to be let out.

Twenty minutes passed before Drake fell to the floor, breathing heavily and wiping the tears away from his flushed face. He sniffled, choking back the sobs as he tried to get himself back under control. The panic was fading, allowing him back onto the path to reasonable thinking. Freaking out wasn't going to help, it was only going to leave him dehydrated and hurt. Drake waited until he caught his breath to push himself back off of the floor, towards the chest to grab the gallon of water. Several long drinks later he replaced the lid and set it back into its resting place and looked around the room.

The windows were small, but he was sure that if he could reach them, he could squeeze through. Moving back towards the middle of the room, Drake grabbed the table and began dragging it towards the far walls, setting it against the wall and climbed onto it. It shook under his light weight but held its place. Even on his tip toes, he still couldn't reach the bottom lip of the window, so he tried jumping, a small hop to assure that the table didn't crumble beneath him. The tips of his fingers barely graced the sill, briefly sliding over its uneven surface before loosing it entirely. He tried again, and when his feet hit the table he slid, bracing himself just before hitting the floor.

Black spots exploded across his vision as the pain flared in his left arm, which had taken the force of the fall. At first all he could do was lay on the floor, taking deep breaths as he waited for the pain to go away. Drake rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the rust from the pipes making its once white surface an orangeish brown. Cracks ran like spider webs, bursting from the holes in the ceiling exposing the pipes and wooden beams holding the place together. Those gateways to freedom were further out of reach then the windows he'd failed to reach.

He wasn't sure how long he'd simply laid there, letting the frustration go rather then allowing himself to get worked up again. He wasn't certain, but he must have fallen asleep, because the next time he saw those windows the sky had grown darker. The vibrant pinks and oranges of early twilight glowing warmly against the chill of the coming nightfall. Drake brought his hands to his eyes, rubbing away the remaining slumber and smearing dust across his face. The dying sunlight had left a deathly chill in the room, made worse by the waking realization that it was indeed, very cold.

Drake pushed himself up from the floor, taking groggy steps towards the chest and the few provisions he'd been left. Half of one of the apples had all ready been wasted, how long could the rest of this possibly last? Right now, he didn't want to think about it, no matter how much he knew he ought to. Staring at the bread and water with empty eyes, Drake considered how best to make it last. Hopefully, it wouldn't have to last. The note had said that his escape was out of his hands, so he could only hope that whoever was in control would do whatever they had to soon. Looking at the three slices of bread he'd taken from the bag, hope seemed like a distant ideal.

Drake ate slowly, attempting to make the small meal last and giving himself the illusion that he'd eaten more then he really had. Following the bread he took one more gulp of water, savoring the brief relief it offered his dry, dust coated throat before returning the cap and moving back towards the bed. He didn't really want to sleep here, but if he was asleep the time would pass faster. In that empty slumber he didn't have to think about what was happening or attempt to understand. There was no chance of being comfortable on the broken in mattress, but Drake did what he could, shifting his body to avoid the exposed springs and curling against himself to try and retain heat.

When he closed his brown eyes he thought of home. His mother, the caring but strong woman who had spent her life looking after him to keep him out of trouble. His step father, who had accepted him and tried to get to know him. And then there was his younger sister, an utter pain, but smarter then just about anyone he'd ever known. Mostly, his thoughts were of Josh, the step brother who had become his best friend. Josh would know what to do, he told himself. About the limited food, about everything. So much of him wanted Josh to be there with him, so that he wouldn't feel so alone and afraid.

He tried to imagine what they were doing right now. Where they laying in bed thinking about him like he was them? Maybe they were getting upset, trying to call his cellular, waiting for him to answer. Perhaps Josh had called off from work, and they were all looking for him right now? The thought was as comforting as it was saddening. He wanted to be found, to go home and forget all of this, but he didn't want to imagine just how distraught his family might be. Instead of thinking of them as he knew them, Drake tried to just focus on the light hearten memories he had, letting their distant comfort take him away from where he was as he slowly fell back into oblivious sleep.

~.~

Before Drake opened his eyes, he heard the thudding sound from the day before and he knew where he was. It wasn't too hard to remember given the feelings of cold and discomfort pulsing through his slowly waking body. The cut on his hand was throbbing, its dull pain forcing him to finally open his eyes to look at the wound. He carefully removed the make shift bandage he'd crafted from his shirt, peeling it away from the red, swollen wound. It would definitely get infected here, and he didn't know what he could do to stop that.

It had crossed his mind that he could use some of his water to at least rinse out the wound, clean out whatever firth the rusted spring had allowed in. But all he had was that one gallon, and he'd already drank a forth of what he had. Without that water, he wouldn't survive long, and there was no way of knowing when he'd be freed. If he'd be freed. Looking at his hand, Drake considered how much it would take for that infection to get beyond repair. He didn't want to loose it, if he did he'd never be able to play guitar again. Drake walked over to the chest, his hand held against his own chest as he pulled the water out. He supposed, he could spare some of it. He told himself that it was what Josh would do, making the choice easier.

Carefully, he set his hand down on the table palm up, staring into the wound as he tipped the gallon. It hurt to watch those brief currents fall over his hand, oozing over the now stinging wound and dripping onto the floor. Drake waited until all of the poured water had run through the wound before tearing off another length of his under shirt and wrapping the wound again, praying that it would work. Long minutes passed as Drake sat in the wooden chair, his hand held against his chest until the pain finally faded from his thoughts.

Just barely in his vision was the box, its frayed rope poking out like frizzled hair. Without thinking Drake pushed himself out of the chair, going to the chest and collecting the small box before returning to the table and setting it down. Until tomorrow, he wasn't supposed to open it. They said that they would know if he did, and despite not knowing who_ they_ were or how they would know, he was afraid of going against their orders. If he opened it before tomorrow, would they hurt him? Leave him here to die a slow, agonizing death? Drake shuddered, pushing the box farther from himself. His fingers lingered over its rough surface, tracing over the old wood and ropes holding it shut. More then fearful, he was curious. Whatever was in there might help him, might give him some kind of answer to the questions he had.

The temptations were too great with the box still in his sight and under his fingertips. Drake pushed himself out of the chair, nearly knocking it over as he scrambled to get away from the box. His hands went from his sides to his hair, his fingers tangling themselves into the chin length black hair and pulling. He hated feeling this unsure and frustrated. He'd never been able to handle stress very well, and right now it was all he could feel. Hesitantly releasing the tight grip on his hair, Drake began to pace the room, anything to help clear his mind. Thirty steps from front to back, forty-two from side to side. Again and again he walked around the room, counting the steps out loud to keep the silence from agitating himself.

He continued until his legs were sore and his voice had been reduced to a dry mumble before falling back into the wooden chair and resting his head in his hands. With his eyes covered, he didn't have to look at the taunting box, but he could still feel it there. Just knowing that it was in the room, that whatever was inside he couldn't know about until tomorrow was picking at the edges of his sanity. Before he could stop his hands from moving, Drake once again found himself staring at the box, counting how many times the hemp rope was wrapped around it, the small nails holding it together. Once again his hands were reaching forward, his fingers brushing over its lid...

Then he heard it again, the thudding from the other day. It echoed faintly against the door, coming in slow, hard bursts from somewhere else in the building. Drake turned away from the box, following the sound to the door. Once again he tried the knob, and once again he found it locked. His fingers traced over the oak door, leaving a smear of disturbed filth before he pressed his ear against it and just listened. There were no voices, no sighs that anything living was out there. Just the steady, continuous thudding that stopped as suddenly as it started. As it had the previous two times he had heard it.

The sudden silence was broken by the unpleasant moaning of his stomach. Drake turned around, leaning against the door as he looked at the metal bucket against the wall. No part of him wanted to be near the foul thing, but he couldn't stop his body from functioning. Taking slow, dreading steps Drake made his way over to the bucket. Right now, he was glad to be alone, knowing that no one else would see what he was about to do was oddly comforting. Biting his lower lip, he undid the belt and let his jeans fall to the floor, stirring the dust into a small cloud around him. The bucket was cold, the act embarrassing, and the moment he had finished he moved away from it as fast s he could. He wasn't sure what about the act had made it so shameful, but shame was the only thing he could feel at the moment. Perhaps it had just been using the bucket, or the knowledge that they had said they were watching him. Either way, he was glad that it was over.

Drake spent the rest of the day pacing the room, thirty steps then forty two, thirty and forty two. All the while he looked over every inch of wall and floor to try and find some kind of weakness in it. Despite its appearance, it was sturdy and inescapable. The hours passed slowly as Drake walked around the room, making note of every crack in the walls and scuff buried under the dust on the floor. Kneeling down on the floor, he watched the ants eat away at the apple he had dropped the day before, taking it piece by piece through holes he couldn't fit through. He'd never been so bored in his life, not even at school. There was nothing he could do to pass the time any quicker, and with no one to talk to, it grew even worse.

Soon enough the silence and boredom began drilling at him mind, leaving an empty need where his thoughts had been. His feet took him back towards the chest, his hands grabbed for the remaining apple and water jug. After devouring the apple, Drake took two small drinks of the water and returned it to the chest. It didn't matter how thirsty he was, it had to last. Once again the thudding sound echoed through the building, and Drake returned to the door, his ear pressed against it as he listened for any clues as to what was making it. As anticipated, no such clue came. Drake continued this way for the rest of the night, continuously searching the room and waiting for the thudding sound to return until he was finally exhausted enough to sleep.

Laying on the mattress, Drake shifted his vision from the window to the box. Outside the stars were shining distant and mocking in their freedom. Inside, the box and its secrets called to him, urging him to peer inside and take whatever it held. Tomorrow, tomorrow he could open it and finally see what they'd hidden from him. He could only hope that whatever was waiting for him would help. Just as he was nodding off the thudding started again. He counted those sounds like a normal person might count sheep, until he was lost in dreams and the silence again fell over the building.

~.~.~.~.~.~

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Drake and Josh.

**A/N:** Hello once again readers, and welcome to the box! This story is taken from one of my original stories, like Reverie was, something I've been considering reusing for Fanfiction for a while now. It will also be my last Fanfic for a while, as I really want to focus on original stories for a while. It will only be about three or four chapters long, and, as if has appeared thus far, is a bit dark. I was once asked if I ever wrote stories without a 'happy' ending, and this is definitely one of them. It took a while to convince myself to make the changes needed for it to be used as Fanfiction, I was worried about what would be lost in the transformation, but I wanted to give the readers who have followed my work one last story, a bit of everything I do mixed together. As it is so much an original piece, reviews and thoughts would be very much appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	2. Keys

The Box: Keys

When Drake slept that night he wasn't blessed with the empty sleep of the night before. The long hours of sweet obliviousness that he'd known the previous nights had given him peace, allowing him to forget about where he was and what was happening. Instead of that comforting darkness that had helped ease the situation he was in by obliterating it from thought, he was dropped into pieces of memories given dream form. In broken playbacks he saw the distorted moments of his life before waking up in the room.

First it was just the kitchen back home, its off white walls stretching endlessly to the low white ceiling. The light wood cabinets and pleasant window. The curtain that he and Josh had once used to make a diaper. Right in the middle of the kitchen, in front of the stainless steel refrigerator stood his parents. They'd been talking about something that had left worried looks on both their faces, but the moment they'd spotted him they'd fallen silent. They stared back at him with sadness in their eyes before turning away from him, talking about something with words he couldn't hear.

Then he was in his room, the license plate covered walls gleaming in the new days light. On the couch was his guitar, and beside it was Josh. It was the guitar that Josh had worked so hard to replace for him after breaking it, when he had gotten to play for his favorite band. On the television was his performance for TLC, which Josh had gotten for him. The memory made Drake smile as he tried to walk closer, watching his bedroom fade from view as the world spun around him.

The next bit he remembered was far from home. The opposite of the clean, quiet house where he'd left his parents, Trevor's house was crowded and booming with sound. Drunken teenagers laughing obnoxiously as the music shook the tall speakers against the tan walls. They had been celebrating something, he couldn't remember what. He could see himself pushing through the crowd, trying to get outside where the air wasn't so heavy to find his girlfriend. She was there, and had wondered off with some of the girls a while ago. When he'd asked where she'd gone, Cassie had replied _outside_ with a heavy slur.

When he got this far into the dream Drake began to toss and turn, struggling to keep the images real.

He was afraid of what happened next, but he wanted to remember. He walked outside, the lights from inside the house spilling onto the lawn in distorted pools as the people inside continued to move around. His phone had buzzed, a message from his mother demanding that he come home immediately. He'd replied, telling her he'd be home as soon as he dropped Allie off. He'd called out to Allie, hoping that she wasn't passed out or hurt as he moved around the cluster of badly parked cars. Everything began to grow hazy as he walked towards the front of the house, into the patch of darkness between the side of the house and the thick trees near the road.

As he'd feared, Allie was laying in the grass, face down and frighteningly still. He'd been moving towards her when he felt his body stop, held back by arms covered in black cloth. One arm wrapped around his midsection, holding his arms down as the other pressed a dark, damp cloth against his face. Drake remembered trying o fight the hold the stranger had on him, attempting to scream out for help as his vision began to blur and fade. The last thing he'd seen before waking up had been Allie, and his last conscious thoughts had been hoping that she was all right.

Drake's eyes shot open, his breath coming out in labored huffs as he forced himself away from the dream. It had all felt so real, almost as if he'd been back home, back at Trevor's house before all of this had happened. Waking up after those bits of memory had left Drake feeling alone, and upset. But beneath those surface feelings, worried. If the dream had just been his memories, then Allie had really been there, laying on the ground, possibly hurt!

Moments after waking Drake realized what day it was. It was the second day, he could now open the box. His body moved on its own, dragging him towards the table as his mind continued to wonder. As much as he wanted to open it, to know what was inside, something inside of him was afraid. It was small, but whatever was inside could be anything. Or, there could be nothing. Whoever had left him here was obviously cruel, would it really surprise him to find nothing in the one thing that he had hoped to find something? He'd put all of his hope into whatever laid waiting within the box, if it were just a simple box, Drake didn't know what he would do.

Sitting at the table Drake rested his hands upon the box, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers. His hands began to tremble as he moved them over the rope, pulling at it to try and free the lid. His fingers slid over the frayed rope, leaving friction burns over the tips as he struggled to pull them away. It felt like hours had passed before they finally budged sliding off of the box and falling noiselessly against the table. Drake pushed his fingers under the edges of the lid, about to pull it off when the thudding started again. Drake turned his gaze toward the door, listening to the now familiar sound until it stopped. Drake sighed, letting the breath ease out as he finally lifted the lid.

Drake didn't know what he had expected to find, but the contents that had been calling to him left him in quiet surprise. Reaching into the box, Drake pulled out a handful of recent Polaroid photographs and another note. He set the photos onto the table, the note held tightly in his hand as he pulled the last item from inside. A dull, brass skeleton key. Drake clenched the key in his hand, feeling it imprint itself against his palm under the pressure. He wanted to rush to the door and try it immediately. Shaking his head, he set the key down beside the photographs and unfolded the note.

_Two days is nothing to celebrate Drake, don't think yourself free just yet. You will soon realize that this room is more sanctuary then prison, and as before, you can not leave this place in its entirety. Your ultimate freedom still rests in the hands of someone else. You have no doubt seen the photos left for you. We have been watching you, following you. Though they are not mere records of surveillance, within them lay two answers. The person to whom your freedom will be determined, and the individual who betrayed you to us. The truths will hurt more then comfort you in the end. Two days remain until we will lose contact with you, tread these halls carefully. _

The note fell to the floor as Drake picked up the photos, flipping through them in hopes of finding the promised answers. Every photo held an image of himself, some taken right outside his house and others while he was out around town. Aside from the haze of strangers in the backgrounds, he found his parents and siblings in some, and Allie in others. There was even one of him with his band. Staring into the faces he'd begun to miss so much, Drake couldn't believe that any of them would have let this happen. What he could believe was that whoever had brought him here wanted something from his family. They weren't rich but they did well, and despite being a goof, Walter was a newsman.

Drake took one last glance within the box, checking for anything he may have forgotten. It looked deeper from the outside, and had definitely seemed to have been a bit heavier when he'd carried it to the table. But nothing aside from the wooden bottom lay inside. Leaving the photographs on the table, Drake picked up the key and discarded rope, stringing it through the uppermost loop in the key. He took a deep breath before moving across the room, towards the door. He didn't care what was outside of the room, he just didn't want to be trapped within it anymore.

His hands were deathly still as he put the key into its place, his breath held as he turned it and released the lock. He'd half expected it not to work. Drake listened to the steady creaking as he pushed the door open, the light from the barred windows in the hall spilling out onto the floor in front of him like hope filled pools. He let go of the breath he'd been holding and stepped outside of the room, into the warm light waiting for him. For long moments he just let that warmth wash over him, basking in it as he let the stale air fill his lungs. When he finally opened his eyes to his surroundings he found that the hallway was much the same as the room he'd been confined to.

The same hard, slate gray walls stood tall to the deteriorating ceiling, rotted oak trim running along their length. The windows were longer, their broken glass within reach. But there were think iron bars where the glass had once been, too close together even for someone as lean as he was to fit through. Outside of those windows rested a vast, unkempt lawn with large pine trees on its borders. There wasn't another building within sight. No way of knowing where he was, or how far from civilization he actually was. Drake turned away from the depressing sight outside, back towards the places he could move through. The building was dirtier out here, the debris and mold scattered in thick patches, the dust resting alongside disturbed footprints and trails. Drake walked the empty hallway, the dull sound of his bare feet against the wooden floor echoing against the walls as he made his way to the first room to his left.

It was larger then his room, a broken dinning table laying in two large pieces in the middle of the floor. The chairs were missing, and the brass candle holders on the walls were coming loose, some already fallen to the floor. Above the broken table, a once grand chandelier hung from a rusting chain. Thick spider webs rested between its bars, the spiders themselves hidden within its empty fixtures awaiting the scarce prey to trap themselves in their webs. Far along the wall was another door, to what Drake assumed was the kitchen. He made his way through the dinning room, towards the door and tried to open it. When it didn't open Drake pulled the key from around his neck and tried to unlock it, hitting the door when it continued to remain locked. For whatever reason, he wasn't allowed into this room.

Finding nothing of use in the dining room, Drake turned toward its second archway, following it into what he assumed had once been a living room. Two long, faded and torn couches sat upon a dirty and shredded rug. There were lighter squares on the chipped, painted blue walls where old frames had once rested, and a stand for what he guessed had been a television. At the farthest end from the archway was another door, this one different from all of the others. It was made of the same oak, but in its middle was a barred, stained glass window. He didn't know how, but Drake knew that this was the door out of this hell.

Drake sprinted across the living room, moving as swiftly as he could to get to that door, the skeleton key already in his hand. His mind was screaming at him, telling him that it wasn't going to work but he didn't want to listen. He had to try! Drake's feet slid to a stop right in front of the door, his hand on the handle before he could even slide the key into place. Like he'd all ready known, his key didn't open that door. Again and again Drake tried the key, grunting out his frustration as it remained locked. "Just open dammit!" Drake yelled and he thrust his body against it, hitting the door with his full force in the hopes of breaking it. He continued ramming against the door until his body throbbed with pain, until he couldn't handle it anymore and fell to the floor against it.

"Why won't you budge." He whispered weakly, turning his sight away from the door. Though he refused to just sit there and cry, Drake could feel the tears burning against his eyes and quickly wiped them away. There had to be another way out he told himself. Drake pushed himself back to his feet, wincing as the pain in his cut hand flared at the sudden use. He was sure it needed to be rinsed out again, but until he knew if there was more water in the house he didn't want to risk wasting what he had.

Back through the living and dinning rooms, Drake once again found himself in the hallway. A few steps farther down and behind an unlocked door he found another room much like his own, though this one was smaller. Looking at the disturbances in the dust and debris, he was sure that someone had been in it recently. Like his own room there was a chest in the corner and Drake made his way over to it and lifted the lid. It was empty, whatever provisions and secrets it had once held utterly absent. The dead silence of the house was shattered as once again the thudding began, causing Drake to drop the lid to the chest and turn around. The loud sound of the lid colliding with the rest of the chest echoed against the walls, the abrupt stop of the thudding left his heartbeat louder. It never stopped that quickly.

Hesitantly, Drake moved across the room, peering out into the hallway for any sign of movement. Everything was as it had been minutes before, and once again the thudding sound resumed. Breathing a sigh of relief, Drake moved back into the hall. There were two doors left, on more along the wall and one at the end. The next door was only a few steps away, and it opened easily. No lock, just the steady creak of old hinges. After the door was opened, Drake wished it had been locked, that his key wouldn't have been able to open it.

The room wasn't very big compared to the others, its torn white wallpaper hanging in pieces, some touching the white tiled floor. Against its walls were a toilet and old fashioned bathtub, but Drake wasn't looking at them. No, the images within his vision were far from comforting, ruining whatever ease he would have felt had they not been present. Hanging over the curved lip of the tub was a girl, or rather, what remained of her. Large sections of skin, now rotten and covered in flies and pulsing with their offspring were missing, as if they'd been carved away. The remnants of dried blood lay caked over her extended arm, the puddle they'd fallen too long since dried. Trails of staining brown slid over the side of the tub, splattered onto the once pristine floor.

Blood. All of it had once been this girls life giving elixir. Drake didn't want to get closer, but he couldn't stop his feet from walking forward, or tear his eyes away from her naked, mutilated corpse. Both of her legs have been deeply carved away, and from the knee down, were completely missing. He was thankful that her brown hair was hanging in a tangled mass over her face, he didn't think he could handle seeing it. It was the rotted body of the child next to her that finally sent him over the edge. Drake's knees weakened, sending him to the floor, his hand sliding through the flaking, dried blood. The full force of stench from her rotting body made him sick, the sight of missing flesh and hacked away limbs pushing the bile out with an ear shattering scream.

Drake didn't hear the thudding stop as his choked cries came out in terrified whimpers. In a desperate hurry he pushed himself away from the girl, towards the door that would let him close away the horrifying sight before him. His hands grasped blindly for the door frame, small splinters of wood embedding themselves into his palms and fingers as he hoisted himself up off of the floor. He was just about to slam the door shut when he briefly heard the footsteps coming closer. Drake turned, but before he could get a look at whatever was coming closer black spots exploded across his vision and he fell to the floor.

~.~

It was the fierce pounding in his head that pulled Drake out of unconsciousness and forced him to open his eyes. Blinking away the blur in his vision, Drake found himself staring up into a hole in the ceiling. Unlike the ceiling in his room, this ceiling left bare the pipes running through the ceiling, like the bones of that girl where her skin had been carved away. Flashes of the memory played across Drake's mind, snapping him out of the haze and bringing him fully back into the present. The last thing he'd remembered was seeing that girl and the remnants of a small child, then nothing.

Drake tried to bring his arms up to his head to massage the pain in his temples, but they wouldn't move. Trying again, Drake slowly became aware of everything else around him. He was laying on a bed much like his own, stiff and reeking of mildew. His arms were extended above his head, held to the rusted bars with small lengths of the same hemp rope that had been wrapped around the box in his chest.

Once again the thudding began, louder then he'd ever heard it before. Drake tried to turn his head towards the sound, seeing only the faint outline of a man hitting his own head against the wall. As if he didn't even realize that Drake was there.

Panic set in as Drake began pulling at the ropes, the friction burns adding to the pain he was all ready in. He turned his head, looking around the empty room. "Whose there?" He yelled, still pulling at the ropes. "Hey! Whoever you are let me go!"

The man stopped smashing his head and turned towards Drake, blood oozing over his bruised face and obviously broken nose. The closer he got the more grotesque his appearance became. Aside from the man's mashed up face, strips of his own flesh had been removed, now festering and oozing with infected puss. He smiled, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. "Calm yourself down kid. Been waiting to meet you since you started pounding your door the other day."

"Who are you?" Drake asked quietly, trying to sink himself further into the bed, away from the man. "And why are you doing this?"

The man shook his head, a grin spreading over his chewed upon lips. "I don't remember who I was, I've been here for so long. The men who use this place leave their hostages and prisoners here, I was the latter. They killed my wife, left my son and I here to rot away. Just like you I was left a box, but mine held a knife. Those bastards told me to be kind, to kill my son to spare him the slow suffering of starvation then to dispose of myself. I killed the boy, couldn't bare to watch him suffer after we ran out of food, but I couldn't kill myself." The man shook his head, slowly turning his sights back on Drake." So I ate him, it was much easier then it should have been." The man's smile faded as he turned his eyes towards the door.

"You ate your son?" Drake asked in quiet shock, his own fear increasing. "What about the girl?"

The man smiled again. "She was like you, left here until our captures got what they wanted. But they didn't come back for her, they didn't get what they wanted. She was so afraid when she finally got her key and found me, but I wasn't this putrid then. For a while, we tried to find a way out together. There are some holes in the walls and floors, but they're full of nails and almost too small to fit through. Only way out of here is in pieces. We shared her provisions for a while, but they ran out and I had to share my boy. When she realized what we were eating, she lost it, and I _was_ running out of meat. Had some fun before she died, but that screaming, couldn't stand it anymore. But she's started to rot, and my own isn't holding up so well."

Drake pulled at the ropes again, looking around for anything that might help him as the man moved closer. "You can't kill me, my note said I still had two days until I lost contact."

"I aint gonna kill you boy. If they get what they want then that door will open, and I'm getting out of here. I been here too long." The man pulled the knife from his belt, its steel shimmering in the late daylight from the windows.

"Then why tie me up?" Drake asked, his sight never leaving the knife. "We could work together, and when they come to get me we could both get out of here."

The man stepped forward, grabbing Drake's cut hand and holding it still. "You already seen whats in the bathroom, and I aint dumb enough to think you'd cooperate with me after seeing that. I got so used to being alone I forgot to lock it... And I need to eat."

Drake pulled at his wrist, trying to yank it out of the man's grasp. "You can't eat me!" He yelled, his own fear sending him into a squirming frenzy. "I'll do whatever you want, just, stop!"

"Shut up!" The man growled, thrusting the knife into the mattress and stomping off across the room, towards the large chest n the corner. He threw open the lid and pulled out a wrinkled, pink tee shirt, taking a moment to inhale it deeply. "I'm so hungry, but first, we have to get rid of that infection. It'll spoil the meat and neither of us wants that." The man made his way back over to Drake and pushed the shirt into his mouth, clumsily tying it so that Drake couldn't spit it out. "You're gonna want to bite down on that." He smiled before picking his knife back up.

Once again the man was holding Drake's hand still, his grip so tight it slowed the circulation to his fingers. Even that lack of feeling couldn't stop the sudden pain of the knife sliding through the flesh of his wrist. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the burning tears race over his dirty cheeks as the man continued to cut into him. He didn't stop until his knife began grinding against the bone. The man stopped, pulling the knife away as he pat Drake on the head like a child. "Doing good so far kid." He chided.

Drake laid his head against the bed, biting down on the shirt as hard as he could while the waves of pain crashed through his body. His eyes glazed over as his head fell to the side, watching without focus as the man grabbed a chunk of the slate stone wall that had fallen to the floor. He looked down at Drake, a brief flash of kindness passing over his face.

"Almost done. Don't worry kid, it'll be over soon." He picked the knife back up, one hand holding it against the bone while the other brought the stone crashing down onto the handle. All Drake could do was scream as bit by bit the bone was shattered, small pieces splashing into the puddle of blood spreading across the dirty floor. Pain exploded through his body in violent waves as darkness danced across his vision. It teased him with oblivion, leaving him to suffer fully conscious. By the time the man had finished breaking away the bone and cutting through the remaining flesh Drake had gone a deathly pale, his dilated eyes gazing without focus into the hole in the ceiling. Once again the man began to move, going down into the hallway and unlocking another door. When he finally came back his hands were wrapped in what must have been the girls jeans, holding a very hot metal pipe. "Don't want it to get infected." He murmured before pressing the steaming pipe against the stump where Drake's hand had been.

Drake screamed, the sound drifting through the shirt between his teeth and waking the birds in the attic. Their silhouette against the sunset view in the window was the last thing he saw before blissfully fading out of consciousness.

~.~

**A/N**: I was going to wait to post this chapter until I knew how the first had been received, its either been disliked or no one has the time, not sure. Regardless, I never quit on a story I've started so, hope that anyone reading has enjoyed part two.


	3. Survival

The Box: Survival

Glassy Brown eyes opened slowly, staring up into the decrepit ceiling that he'd become so accustomed to. Despite the heavy sleep that Drake had been in his breathing came out in heavy, rapid bursts, leaving his chest sore as he turned his head toward the out of reach windows. The blood had dried, leaving his hair matted and causing it to pull away from the mattress painfully. He could smell it, the heavy copper and remnants of burnt flesh. Drake didn't want to look at his hand, or rather, where he knew the hand had once been. Nothing in the world could make him forget those long, agonizing moments as his hand had been cut away, the pain that had torn through him as the bone had been broken and the flesh seared shut. A dirty cut would have healed, now, it was almost easier to wish that he'd been killed rather then loose his music.

Blinking away the remaining sleep, Drake looked towards the distant wall where his unwanted companion was once again smashing his face against the wall. Thud... Thud... Thud... Fresh blood mixed with the puss from the sores on his face, creeping down the dirty wall into a stagnant puddle on the floor. Without warning the man, who Drake had decided to call Cannibal Joe stopped, turning his beaten and mashed face to Drake with distant eyes. Hollow, sleepless eyes covered in red webs starred back at him almost as if he wasn't there before looking to the door to the room. Joe took a few steps forward before going completely still, blinking himself out from his trance and smiling at Drake.

"Morning Kiddo." He said merrily as he approached Drake and pulled the girl's pink shirt from between his teeth. "Hope you don't mind, but I took some of your water and bread."

Drake groaned, his mouth too dry to reply. He wanted to be upset, to scream and curse as Joe looked at him as if nothing were wrong. His hand was gone. With the damage done there was no getting it back, and there was nothing in this hellish place that was going to help with the pain. Joe continued smiling as he moved towards the table in the middle of his room, pouring the water from Drake's jug into a dirty cup before bringing it over to him. Despite his anger Drake cooperated as Joe held the cup to his lips and carefully tipped it.

Greedily, Drake finished the offered glass, letting the cool water run down his throat and soften the pain he felt there. Long moments passed before he was able to look at Joe, let alone speak to him. Drake cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "Are you going to untie me?"

Joe sat on the side of the bed, adjusting himself away from an exposed spring as his eyes fell on the remaining rope around Drake's right wrist. "Not yet," He replied simply. "Given whats happened, I don't think I can trust you just yet."

Drake scoffed, turning his sight away from Joe. After what had happened, it was he who couldn't trust Joe! He decided then that he had to do whatever it took to gain Joe's trust, to earn the freedom he would need to survive this, if survival was still an option at all. Tomorrow he would lose contact with whoever had brought him here, and he needed to do something other then wait to know whether or not he was going to die here. "Why do you think _you _can't trust me?" He asked after long moments of silence.

Joe laughed, spittle flying from his mouth. "I ain't as crazy as I look kid." Joe shook his battered face. "In the short time you've known me I've confessed to cannibalism and cut off your hand, and no matter how I justify it, it'll never make sense to you. And, if those guys don't come back for you so I can get out of here, well, one of us will want to survive more then the other."

Drake nodded, knowing that Joe was right. Even now he was looking at the knife in Joe's belt, considering how to kill him. No matter what Joe said, Drake would never trust him, and no amount of reasoning would make him see Joe's actions the way that Joe did. "Why do you keep hitting your face against that wall?"

Joe looked towards the stained wall as his fingers lightly traced over his broken nose, sliding through the blood and puss. "It makes bein' here easier. No real way to explain it kid, don't remember why I started doing it, or why it still happens. This place just grabs a hold of you and makes you do crazy stuff." Joe offered Drake an toothy smile as he got up and helped himself to the remaining water. "Whats your story kid? Why are you here?"

Drake shrugged his shoulders. "My name isn't _kid_," He began coldly. "Its Drake, and I don't really know why. They left pictures, said that the answers were in them but I don't really understand. I guess, they want money from my dad, but I don't think he has that much..." Drake's thoughts lingered on his family and just how badly he wanted to be home. He hated to think that all of this suffering had been so that some crook could get a few handfuls of cash, but what other reason could there be?

"They love their money." Joe said softly. "I owed them quite a bit, that's why they killed my wife and left me here. Times were tough, and I needed extra cash, but paying it back ain't so easy."

"Who are_ they_?" Drake asked.

Joe shrugged his shoulders. "I think there are different guys, groups working for someone else. I owed the mob money, but they always seemed to be reporting to someone else. What does your dad do?"

"He's a weatherman." Drake answered.

"I'd have kidnapped you too," Joe laughed. "Bet your dad makes good money and would pay nicely to have you back. Public sympathy would boost ratings, probably get him a raise, keep filling his pockets."

"My dad isn't like that." Drake snapped. "He's a good guy, a goof, but a good one." Nothing could make him think that Walter of all people would be singled out by money snatching crooks. People didn't respect Walter, heck, most of the time neither did he. He just didn;t like the way Joe was talking.

"Whatever you say kid. For you to be here, daddy must have done more then predict the weather." Joe turned away from Drake's angry gaze, starring down at his blistered wrist. Without a word he poured another glass of water and used it to rinse the wound, muttering under his breath that they needed to keep it clean before walking out of the room.

Drake breathed a sigh of relief as Joe vanished from the room, leaving him alone. As soon as he could no longer hear Joe's footsteps on the wood floors he went to work on the rope still binding his right wrist. No matter how he moved it, the rope only became tighter. More the once Drake caught himself moving his left arm as if to use the fingers he no longer had. Every time he saw the bloodied stump his stomach lurched and a fresh wave of anger coursed through his veins like fire. The pain was agonizing, but compared to the utter loss he felt it was bearable. He didn't know how, but he was going to get out of this, and he was going to kill Cannibal Joe.

Hours passed as Drake struggled against the rope, eventually moving himself close enough to try and pull at the tight knots with his teeth. By the time Joe wondered back into the room he had managed to loosen one of the knots and work at the next. As Joe moved into view Drake laid back down, covered in sweat but looking as if he'd done nothing in the time he'd been alone. Joe didn't look at him as he nibbled on the bit of meat between his stained fingers. Drake didn't want to think about where that meat had come from.

Joe turned towards Drake, holding out the last few bites. "Hungry?"

He was starving, but he refused to eat what Joe was offering. "No thanks." Drake muttered as he stared up into the ceiling. He could hear the birds as they moved about, feeding their young and ignoring the events happening beneath them. He'd give anything he had left to be as free as they were, having the ability to just leave.

"Gotta eat kid," Joe said as he grabbed a few slices of the bread and brought them over. "If you die and they want you alive, then I'm in trouble."

"I don't care." Drake replied bluntly. "How do you think they'll react to you cutting off my hand?"

Joe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he took the bread and moved away from Drake. "If they had wanted to stop me, they would have." He looked around the room, into the broken ceiling. "They watch everything we do, they know. If they're smart, they're using that to get daddy to pay up faster." He spat as he sat down at the table. "Go ahead and starve." He muttered as he ate the bread.

Drake pushed away Joe's words, closing his eyes to escape his surroundings. He thought of home, his parents and his siblings and how good it would be to be with them again. Far away from this place and everything within its walls. He thought about Allie and told himself that she was okay, that she would still love him once she found out his hand was gone. That the music that had brought them together was gone forever. He didn't open his eyes when he heard the chair creak as Joe got up, quietly walking towards the wall and again hitting his head against it. Those familiar thuds lulled Drake to sleep, pulling him away from reality and the pain he was in.

When he dreamed Drake found himself again at Trevor's house, wondering outside to find Allie. He tried to stop himself from going outside, telling himself that if he stayed inside then all of this would go away like some kind of nightmare. Despite his silent pleads his feet lead him through the doors, into the dark, chilly night. He didn't need to relive what happened next, he'd already remembered. Again he saw Allie laying on the grass, her body frighteningly still. He called out to her as he moved forward to make sure she was all right. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as he felt the arm close around his body to keep him still. His head swam as the rag was again pressed over his face, slowly dragging him out of consciousness. This time he fought it, forcing himself to remain aware as long as possible for any sort of clue.

In his disorientation he heard a vaguely familiar voice as the man behind him began to speak. "You can get up now."

Darkness crept over Drake's vision as he watched Allie push herself to her feet, brushing the grass off of her jeans as she smiled. He watched in disbelief as she looked back at him without guilt, as his world finally faded into complete darkness.

Drake's eyes shot open, forcing the dreams images away as he tried to deny them. His body was soaked in a cold sweat, making him shiver against the nights chill as he tried to understand what he had seen. He didn't want to believe it, he wanted it to just be a nightmare. Allie would never do that, He told himself as he laid his head back down. They'd been dating for four months, she cared about him. Drake pushed away the remnants of the dream, turning his attention to the room he was in. Once again Joe was nowhere to be found. Drake took advantage of his isolation and moved himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain he was in to continue working at the rope around his wrist.

His teeth ground against the fraying rope, strands coming loose and falling into his mouth. He tried not to focus on them as he bit at the knot, finally catching it and pulling it loose. He wasn't sure just how many knots he'd pulled loose before the rope finally slide down his arm, releasing its hold on him. His head fell against the mattress as he pulled his arm out and began flexing his fingers. He didn't stay still for long. Listening for Joe, Drake pushed himself up swung his feet over the mattress and unto the floor. He hesitated as his vision began to spin, taking only a few moments to collect himself before forcing himself to stand.

He'd barely taken a step before he lost his balance and fell back onto the mattress, one of the springs tearing through his shirt and cutting into his back. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as the pain raced through his body, leaving him temporarily unable to move. Again he listened for Joe, hoping that the deranged man hadn't heard him. Instead of Joe, he heard something else, a faint beeping. Two soft beeps then nothing. He knew that sound, he couldn't place it but he knew that it was important.

As soon as his breathing had steadied Drake pushed himself back to his feet. He took slow, careful steps as he focused on anything but the pain and dizziness he felt. He told himself that he could survive this, like he and Josh had survived Hollywood. Josh and Meghan had been the only reason he had gotten out of Hollywood alive. Despite the danger, he wished that Josh could be there with him, Josh might panic, but he would know better how to survive this place. It hurt to admit, but he was sure even Meghan would be doing better then he was now. They were both smarter then he was...

Drake pushed his dark thoughts away, trying to focus on reality as he kept moving. His arm was throbbing, leaving him nauseous as he stumbled towards the door to the room. It was hard to maneuver through the house with no lights except what little moonlight managed to come through the windows and a vague recollection of his surroundings Again he heard the beeping, two beeps and then silence. As quietly as he could Drake followed the sound; all the while listening for Joe. He didn't look into the bathroom as he passed it, the stench drifting out from under the door telling him how far down the hall he was. Drake kept walking, determined to find that sound, and to take care of Joe before he passed out.

Two beeps and then silence. Drake found himself outside of the door to his room, hiding in the halls shadow as he peered in. Joe was in his room, starring blankly at his box as it sat on the table. Surly the sound couldn't be coming from it, he'd already checked it. Drake shifted his weight, cursing silently as the floor beneath him creaked. He held his breath, straining to hear Joe's movements. Maybe he hadn't heard him.

Taking a deep breath, Drake peered around the corner again. Drake jumped, nearly screaming as he found himself face to face with Joe. Joe's bloodshot eyes and twisted smile rested inches away from him, so close that Drake could smell his rancid breath. Drake stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor.

"Its empty, but somethings there." Joe muttered. "Whats in the box?" He demanded as he advanced towards Drake, standing over him and reaching for his knife.

Before he could think Drake kicked out, his foot hitting Joe's knee and forcing the man to stumble away from him. Drake screamed as he pushed himself up with his right hand and what remained of his left wrist. The seared skin tearing as it scraped against the floor, opening the wound. Once he was on his feet Drake pushed himself past Joe, grabbing the door in an attempt to shut the crazy man out.

Joe moved quickly, putting hit foot in front of the door before using his full weight to keep it from closing. "What are you hiding in there?" He yelled as he pushed again, knocking Drake back and swinging the heavy door open. Again the beeping sounded, drawing Joe's attention momentarily to the box.

In his distraction Drake moved farther away from Joe, running towards the table as he searched the room for anything he could use as a weapon. With one hand there wasn't much he could hold onto, and all he could think to grab was the chair. "Stay away from me." He yelled as he moved behind the chair, wrapping his right hand around it and testing its weight.

Joe chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "What could you possibly do to stop me?" He continued laughing as he held up his knife, the blade glimmering in the moonlight. "I have nothing to loose kid, and I have the only real weapon."

As Joe advanced Drake lifted the chair. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold it long, but he refused to let Joe near him again. Joe licked his lips, blood and ooze smearing around his chewed upon lips as his lifted the knife. Drake waited until Joe was within range and he swung the chair, missing Joe's head but hitting the hand with the knife. Both watched as it clattered and slid across the floor. With what little hold he had left Drake swung again, breaking the chair against Joe's side before lunging towards the knife.

Joe growled as the pain flared through his body before moving after Drake, knocking over the table before throwing himself down and catching the boys ankle. "I don't care if they want you alive," He snarled as he pulled Drake away from the knife. "I'm going to tear you apart, and if you survive, they can have whats left of you."

Drake flipped onto his back, feeling the wood splinter against his skin as his shirt slid up, exposing his back. Panic set in as he watched Joe pull him back, grabbed higher unto his leg as he barred his teeth. Drake looked back, seeing the knife move further from grasp as he clawed into the wooden floor, feeling his fingernails snag and break off as he tried to pull himself away from Joe. "Let go!" He shouted as Joe crawled further up.

Joe threw his weight onto Drake's chest, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him dazed. "You can't win kid." He sneered, wrapping his fingers in Drake's hair and slamming his head against the floor. Spots danced across his vision as he tried to think through the panic. "What are you hiding in that box?"

"Nothing," Drake gasped, using his right hand to grip Joe's wrist. "There was nothing in there except some photos and a note."

"Liar!" Joe screamed as he again slammed Drake's head against the floor. "Mine had a knife, hers had a lighter and the keys to the kitchen. There's always something else, now what are you hiding?"

Drake turned away from Joe, trying not to stare into his tooth filled mouth. He had to do something or Joe was going to kill him. Gritting his teeth, Drake released his hold on Joe's wrist and drove his fingers towards the mans eyes, feeling them push through as the blood fell onto his face. He swore that he could taste the infection in Joe's blood as drops fell into his mouth, making him sick. Joe screamed, sitting straight up and clutching his face as Drake pulled up his knees and disturbed Joe's balance. As soon as the man was off of him Drake turned onto his stomach, crawling desperately towards the knife. He didn't look back at Joe as the man roared and began crawling after him. Drake felt his fingers close over the knifes handle as Joe grabbed his shirt, without hesitating he swung, feeling the knife slice through Joe's cheek. He didn't wait to see what would happen next. Before Joe could move to attack him again Drake sat up and forced the knife forward, puncturing Joe's throat.

As the blood poured from his wounds Joe continued crawling towards Drake, indistinguishable words falling from his bleeding lips. Drake pushed himself back, watching as Joe reached up and pulled the knife from his throat, releasing torrents of blood. Drake pushed himself back further until he hit the wall, too tired to do anything but watch as Joe dragged himself closer. Joe dropped the knife as he wrapped his hands around his bleeding throat, grinning as his damaged eyed rolled back into his skull and he fell to the floor.

For long minutes Drake watched Joe, expecting him to spring back up and come after him like a horror movie villain. His heart beat violently against his chest as his body began to shake. Fear and adrenaline rushed through his veins as his mind tried to comprehend what had happened. Joe had snapped, insanity and paranoia had taken over and he'd lost what little humanity he might have had left. But those unstable reactions hadn't killed Joe, he had. Drake told himself that it had been necessary, that Joe would have killed him if he hadn't. Joe was a bad person, he'd killed his own son and some girl, he would have killed him.

Drake turned his head as the beeping sounded again. His eyes followed the sound to the fallen table, the box a few feet away from it battered and open. From within its shallow case shone a dim red light, flickering and fading as the beeping stopped. Too exhausted to stand, he carefully began to crawl towards it. That sound, the soft reddish light, he knew them. The closer he got to the box the heavier his body became. Pain flared over every surface and clouded his vision. His left wrist throbbed as the torn fingers on his right hand bleed and begged to be left alone. He was just a few feet away from the box when he collapsed. Drake cursed at himself as his body refused to go any further, tears of frustration and hurt blurred his remaining vision as he fell into empty, oblivious unconsciousness.

~.~

**A/N:** Talk about intensity! Holy stars did things ever get a bit crazy there. Any guesses as to what is within the Box? How it remained hidden? And who has brought Drake here and what could they want? There have been a few clues in these last chapters, hopefully not too obvious. One more chapter to go, and all will be revealed. I apologize if it takes a bit, havent fully finished the ending on the original yet.

**A/N 2: **I would very much like to thank **CoverGirl7210,** **Wondergirlxox, Ashlin Night and Brit98** for their reviews. You are amazing and you should feel amazing. :)


	4. The End

The End

Josh Nichols opened his eyes, rubbing away what little sleep he'd gotten as his computer alerted him that he had mail. It had been four days since his brother had been kidnapped, and every day his family was sent short videos of the boys imprisonment. Motivation to comply with the men who had taken him. Though they had not yet received their demands his parents were determined to do whatever it took to get Drake back, and Josh had sworn to do whatever he could to help. All they had seen of Drake had been painful, from the boys confusion and isolation, to the agonizing moments when the bastard in the other room had dared to tie him down and cut off his hand!

Whatever these men wanted, they more then prepared to give just to get Drake back and end all of this. Josh had offered up his college funds, and Meghan had so as well. Education didn't matter as much as getting Drake back. He called his parents into the room as he loaded the video, he didn't think his heart could bare the impending horror that he knew the video would give them. There was no shortage to the horrors that he might see, but he couldn't go without knowing that his brother was still alive. Josh's fingers trembled as he clicked play, his tired eyes watering as he watched Drake's desperate fight against the man in the room. He could hear every gasp Audrey made as tears filled her eyes. His father sniffling as his hands turned to fists. He was proud of Drake as he watched him fight back, as he won and destroyed the man who had hurt him. Deep within himself he knew that though it had been necessary to his survival, killing that man would haunt his brother for the rest of his life. But Drake was alive, and that was what mattered.

If Drake were anywhere close, then the video was hours old. Through his own windows the afternoon sun was shining brightly, the video had appeared to have been made late into the night. It could have been days old, or a product of the short time he had been asleep at his desk. Not knowing drove at him, irritating him beyond comprehension. Josh turned around in the chair, looking at his parents helplessly. He didn't know why the videos were always sent to him, but their content hurt everyone. He was about to speak when his cell phone began to ring.

~.~

He didn't want to open his eyes as the beeping drilled into his ears. Despite the horrors of the night before his dreams had been light, memories of better days traced with events that had never been. His misadventures with Josh and all of the pranks Meghan had pulled on them. He dreamed about the music he would never play again, how good it had felt. If his parents had never gotten together, so many of his best memories would never have happened. He was glad that they had, that his life had been worth something before all of this.

The beeping sounded again, two lone beeps before the silence. Suddenly, Drake knew why that sound was so familiar. It was the same annoying sound his cell phone made when the battery was giving out. His eyes snapped open, squinting against the early day's light shining on him through the windows. Every inch of his body hurt as he moved to crawl towards the box, his eyes avoiding the body laying on the floor. He didn't want to think about Joe and what he had done. Dragging his body against the floorboards, Drake made his way to the fallen box, grasping it tightly and pulling it close.

In the scuffle the night before, when the box had fallen it had knocked the bottom loose, revealing to Drake a hidden compartment containing the cellular device, held still in place with crumpled newspapers. Drake pushed the box aside as he pulled the cell phone close, feeling the plastic case against his fingers as it again began to chirp. The low battery signal flashed across the screen, drawing Drake's full attention to the device. Before he could bring his fingers to the keypad to call for help it began to ring. Drake didn't recognize the number flashing over the screen, but he could not stop himself from answering it.

"Hello?" His voice cracked.

"Drake Parker, you've done well so far." A voice Drake didn't know came across the line followed by a soft chuckle. "All you have to do now is keep yourself alive for as long as you can, and hope that we get what we want."

"What do you want?" Drake shouted into the phone. "Who are you?"

"What answers you need are there, we don't have to give you anything more." The man snapped. "Go ahead and call home, make them comply or you will die there." The line went dead.

Drake took a deep breath before pulling the phone away from his ear with his shaking hand. From memory he dialed his brother's number, hoping with everything he had left that Josh would answer. Three times it rang, interrupted briefly by the annoying reminder that he was running out of time. When the ringing finally stopped Drake could barley breath, let alone speak.

"Hello?" Josh's strong voice came across the line. "Who is this?"

"Josh," Drake's voice came out light and hoarse. Just hearing a friendly, familiar voice was enough to put him at ease. "Josh its me, Drake."

"Drake!" Josh exclaimed, the strength leaving his voice. "Are you all right?"

Drake let his head fall against the floor. He was very far from all right. "I'm alive," He answered wearily. "I want to come home."

Josh breathed heavily, cradling the phone in his tired hands as he looked to his worried parents. "I know Drake, as soon as they tell us what they want we're coming to get you." He promised.

Pain crashed through Drake's body, leaving him weaker then he'd ever felt as he curled up on the dirty floor, tears forming in his eyes. "I need to go to the hospital." He whispered. "Josh,"

"I know," Josh replied as he fought to keep his voice steady, the images from the computer flashing through his memory. "Everything is going to be all right, I promise."

Again the phone beeped, its screen flashing as the low battery sign was displayed. "I'm running out of time," Drake murmured helplessly. He didn't want to loose his only connection with home.

"Don't think that way!" Josh said with stern kindness. "I know its been hard Drake, but you are strong, and you'll be okay. We've made it out of bad situations before. Just hold on a little longer, okay?" Josh hadn't meant to plead, but hearing Drake sound so small and afraid was hard.

Drake nodded his head, before whispering. "I love you Josh. All of you,"

"Its not time for goodbye." Josh replied as his heart sank. "We are going to get you back, don't give up, no matter-"

The line went dead. Drake let the phone fall to the floor, listening to its clatter echo against the walls as he painfully curled against himself and cried.

~.~

"Drake?" Josh shouted as the line went dead. "Drake!" He pushed himself to his feet as the cell phone became more real in his shaking hands. Through the door to his room he could hear Meghan running down the hall, bursting in with worried eyes.

"What happened?" They had kept her from viewing the they'd been sent, but when they left for work she would sneak into the room and watch them. Those images had haunted her every waking moment. "Is he," She couldn't bare to say it.

Josh shook his head, collecting himself for her everyone's sake. "He called, guys I talked to him. He's alive," he assured them, watching them relax with tears in their eyes. He was just a kid, why was all of this falling on him?

"Why are they doing this?" Audrey demanded. "What do they want?"

"I wish I knew." Walter confessed as he sighed, forcing his own body to relax. "If they would just tell us I would give them whatever they wanted."

Again Josh's cell phone rang, another number he didn't know coming across the screen. Josh took a deep breath, looking to his parents for support and brought the device to his ear. "Josh Nochols here," He used his most professional voice.

"Are you ready to receive our demands?" A man's voice came casually across the line.

Before he could blink Josh felt all of the anger return to him, raging through his body and igniting his frustration. "Where is my brother?" He demanded coldly.

"Where we left him." The voice replied smugly. "You have ten seconds to calm down and listen to me, or you will never find him."

Josh looked at his parents, wordlessly telling them that it was Drake's captures. "Whatever you want, just name your price."

The voice chuckled. "This isn't about money Josh."

~.~

Drake didn't know how much time passed as he laid on the floor unable to move. The tears had long since stopped as the light from the high windows had moved across the floor, its warmth passing over him and leaving him colder then ever. Everything hurt, and the combination of physical and mental agony had kept him unbearably conscious in the hours after the phone call. It took every ounce of will he possessed to push himself off of the floor to search for anything to eat or drink. Dragging his tired body through the house he went back to Joe's room, salvaging what little water remained as well as the bread.

Without thinking he gulped the last few swallows, savoring every brief moment. He was so thirsty, his throat burning with need. Pushing aside his discomfort Drake carried the empty jug towards the bathroom, holding his breath as he entered. He tried not to look at the bodies as he moved towards the sink, the blood on the floor and partially devoured limbs hanging over the lip of the tub. He set the jug on the sink and used his right hand to turn the faucet. The water that managed to sputter out was murky and tainted with rust. He didn't want to drink it, but he knew that if he was going to survive, he would have to.

Drake walked back to his room. In truth he didn't want to be in there with Joe, but that room was the only part of this place that felt like it was his, where he was supposed to be safe. He slid to the floor near the discarded cell phone, trying to force it to work just so that he could try and find some form of comfort. He didn't pay attention to the growing shadows as the sun moved across the sky, as he tried again and again to get the phone to power up for more then a few seconds at a time. Finally frustrated, he threw the useless phone across the room, feeling himself cringe as it broke against the far wall. Despite how useless it had become, it had been his only connection to the outside world.

The phone was gone. Soon the food and questionable water would be gone. Drake tried not to think about how hopeless his situation was, trying desperately to cling to some form of hope to help him pull through this. Whever things had been bad before, Josh had been with him. If Josh were here now, he knew that this would be easier. Josh would know what to do. He reached forward, grasping the newspapers that had been used to keep the phone from rattling in its secret compartment and unfolded them. Anything to ease the boredom while there was still light.

All of the papers where the same, multiple copies of the same story. Drake knew that story, his life had changed after that day. Staring back at him was a photograph of the warehouse where he and Josh had been held captive in Hollywood. Even though the photo was of the outside, he could still see everything that had happened there. The story followed the details of the men who had stolen the machines to print the money, of how he and Josh had been there and stopped them. The paper had left Meghan's assistance out. But that had been a year ago! These papers had been saved, used specifically for him. Why else would there be so many of just that story?

Whatever these people wanted, Drake was sure that it had something to do with their time in Hollywood, but he couldn't imagine what. The men who had been involved were in jail.

~.~

"If you don't want money, then what do you want?" Josh demanded as his grasp on the phone tightened.

"Tone it down Josh, if I don't like your attitude, I can make things worse for your brother. You've seen how he's held up so far, I'm sure that you don't want to make this any harder for him."

Josh exhaled, forcing his temper to retreat as he tried to calm his voice. "I just want my brother back, whatever you want, it's yours."

"That's better," The man on the line smiled. "a year ago, you helped send someone very important to me to prison, I want him released. Once he is free, your brother will be freed."

"What are you talking about?" Josh asked, trying to remember everything that had happened last year.

The man chuckled. "Think of the day you and your stupid brother almost died. We lost a lot of money that day, and my brother went to jail because of you. But you and your brother got to be heroes."

_Hollywood._ Josh remembered very well the day that he and Drake had almost been killed after stumbling upon the counterfeiters plans. "Are you talking about what happened in L.A?" He asked, angry again. "I can't just get those guys out of prison. Even if we could try it would take more time then Drake has."

"You will do whatever it takes, Josh, or you will be burring your brother. And whatever money you have to give us a new start wouldn't hurt." The man snapped before the line went dead.

~.~

For three days Drake nibbled at the stale bread, picking around the mold as he tried to keep himself from starving. He had moved what things he could consider his from the room he had woken in, not wanting to share it with Joe's body, too weak to move him. Unwilling to stay in the room where Joe had butchered him Drake had gone to the girl's room. He told that nothing bad had happened in that room, that he would only be there a few more days,. Over and over he read the articles about Hollywood, memorizing the papers words as he tried to distance himself from where he was and what had happened.

The fever was getting worse, leaving him in a constant sweat as his wrist became infected. He tried to keep it clean with the dirty water, but after the first day he was sure that he had only made it worse. He spent the long hours of the days pacing the room, reciting the article's words and ignoring his growing hunger. There was nothing left to eat and he could feel himself growing weaker with every step. How much longer would he have to be here? He didn't know what they wanted from his family, but surly they would give it to them and get him out of here.

On the forth day after the phone call Drake snapped. He left the girl's room and went to the front door, hating the way it mocked him as he threw himself against it until he was covered in bruises. He screamed at it, cursing it until his throat was too sore to make another sound. He hated that door, this place. He hated the people who had brought him here and his family for not saving him yet. Darkness was falling over the house by the time he had slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself as he cried in frustration and hurt. It had been more then a week, why hadn't he been rescued yet?

That night Drake dreamed about his preformance on TLE. He saw himself on the stage, smiling as he played his music for thousands of viewers. How good it had felt, how happy he had been. Then he saw himself standing with his family, watching as a casket was lowered into the ground. He blinked and found himself in the coffin, scratching at the lid and begging to be released. He had awoken in tears, determined not to go back to sleep to avoid what other nightmares waited for him.

On the fifth day Drake found himself standing over Joe's body with the knife in his hand. He hated Joe and what he had done to him. The pain of loosing his hand and his music, the intensity of the spreading infection. Drake had tried not to think about the night he had killed Joe, because in killing him he felt like he had lost something of himself. He reminded himself that he had to do it, that if he hadn't Joe would have killed him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was happy that he had killed him. Drake had laughed at the corpse, spitting on it triumphantly as he stared down at the rotting body.

He was so hungry. Drake realized in quiet terror that he was looking over Joe, searching for skin that didn't look as disgusting as his beaten face. He dropped the knife, tearing at his hair as he told himself that he would not resort to the things Joe had done. He wasn't that kind of person, he couldn't...

On the sixth day Drake began to cut the skin from Joe's legs. As carefully as he could, detaching himself from what he was doing he separated the flesh from Joe's body and went into the kitchen. He found the stove that Joe had used to heat the pipe and carefully laid the meat upon it, waiting as it cooked. "I have to," He told himself as tears fell over his dirty face. "I have to survive, they'll come for me soon..." His hands shook as he put the first piece into his mouth, savoring it until it hit his stomach. He vomited, cursing at himself as he fell to the floor and wept. He didn't want to die here.

After he regained his composure he cooked another piece, forcing it to remain in his stomach. He was disgusted with himself, and he was still hungry. Drake ate what he could before going back to his new room and sitting on the bed, the Box in his hands. He pulled out the photos that had been left and stared into the faces of his family. He missed them so much. He didn't think that he would ever see them again. He took one of the copies of the news story and with the knife, cut his finger. He picked up a piece of wall with a sharp edge and in blood, as neatly as he could he began to write.

_I'm sorry for everything that I've done. For the hurt I've caused and what I am becoming. I hate myself I hate myself I HATE EVERYTHING!. Where are you? I just want to go home and make all of this go away. I did my best, why aren't you here? I'm sorry... Please take me away from here, Please. I want to go home. I killed him, I'm happy about it and I hate myself. I don't want to be him, please don't make me wait anymore. It hurts. God, everything hurts. I don't want to die like this. Please..._

Drake cried, crumpling the paper and shoving it into the box. He held the knife against his arm, just above the bloodied stump where his hand had been and tried to remember just how long he had been there. He made a cut for every day that he could remember. They aren't coming, his mind whispered. It had been so long, whatever his captures had wanted, they hadn't gotten. What could he have done to make then not want to get him back? Drake tormented himself for hours trying to think of what he could have done to make them leave him there. Sure he hadn't always been the best son, or brother but he didn't deserve to be left here like this! He cried and screamed and bashed himself against the front door until all he could do was sit against it and try to push away the pain that he was in.

After that Drake moved himself out of the room, the box in his hands he sat across from the front door. Maybe, maybe things were just taking a little linger then they should and they were still coming for him. Maybe his captures would bring someone else here. Either way, that door would have to open, and when it did he would be ready. No matter what he had to do he would get out of this place.

Drake lost track of time as he watched the door, slipping between consciousness and dreams. He stopped marking his arms with days as his grasp on time began to slip away. He watched the door with hazy vision, unconsciously chewing on his fingers as the hunger made him sick. It will open. He told himself over and over. He thought about his family, how much he missed them and hated them for not rescuing him. He thought about the things he had wanted to do with his life and how unimportant they were now. Now, all he wanted was a chance to live.

~.~

It had taken two weeks to get Drake's captures what they had wanted. Hours wasted talking to the police and FBI, waiting for them to come up with a plan to get Drake back and still hold their prisoners. Josh knew why he had been the target of those videos and calls, the man who had taken Drake had wanted to hurt them both. They were being blamed and punished for what had happen in Hollywood. Josh had paced his room that night, waiting for the call that would let him get his brother back. After the first phone call he had stopped receiving emailed videos, and not knowing if Drake was still alive had broken him. It was eight o'clock in the morning when they was finally given the coordinates to Drake's location.

The police busted down the door, entering with their weapons raised. They stopped, looking down at the unconscious boy sitting across from them in horror. One hand gone, and the fingers of the other totally mangled, grasping the small box tightly. He was pale, thin, and very cold. The first officer in put away his gun, rushing to the boys side to check for a pulse as he ordered the others to search the building. The pulse was there, but it was weak. He wrapped his arms under the boy, carefully lifting him up from the floor to carry him out to the ambulance. He was unbelievably light.

Drake's eyes pushed open as they walked through the door, his gaze empty as he tried to smile. He tightened his fingers, making sure that the box was still there as he coughed violently. "I knew it would open..." He muttered, cringing as he again became aware of the pain in his body.

"Save your strength kid." The officer replied softly.

"My parents," Drake muttered, his fingers bleeding as he gripped the box. He closed his eyes, preventing what tears he had from falling. He felt his body being moved, the officers warm arms burning against the cold of his own body. He felt heavy, too tired to keep trying as the flashing lights beat against his eyelids. It was over. It was finally over.

Drake Parker died moments before reaching the ambulance at the age of eighteen. His parents were given the box that he had clung to even after death, with the photographs and messy noted he had written inside. Upon the pictures of his family he had simply written I love you, and that he forgave them. The house where he had been kept was burnt down a week later, there was no investigation to the arson.

~.~

**A/N:** That is the end. As promised, this is a story without a happy ending, and the last fanfiction I will be working on. It isn't quite as good as the original, but I like it and hope that all of the readers have as well. I have always wanted to do something set after what had happened in Hollywood, and though this isn't exactly what I had planned, it is what I have. If anyone is interested in the original, or what I will be working on in the future, my Fictionpress account is linked in my profile page.

_~ This story is dedicated to the readers I have had over the years. Everyone who has been supported and offered their time and and thoughts to my work. ~_


End file.
